WOMAN.

BY WILLIAM LEGGETT.

No star in yonder sky that shines

Can light like woman's eye impart,
The earth holds not in all its mines
A gem so rich as woman's heart.
Her voice is like the music sweet
Poured out from airy harp alone,
Like that when storms more loudly beat,
It yields a clearer-richer tone.

And woman's love's a holy light
That brighter burns for aye,
Years cannot dim its radiance bright,
Nor even falsehood quench its ray.
But like the star of Bethlehem

Of old, to Israel's shepherds given,
It marshals with its steady flame
The erring soul of man to heaven.

RHYME AND REASON.

AN APOLOGUE.

BY G. P. MORRIS.

Two children, "once upon a time,"
In the summer season,

Woke to life-the one was Rhyme,

The other's name was Reason.

Sweet Poesy enraptured prest
The blooming infants to her breast.

Reason's face and form to see
Made her heart rejoice;
Yet there was more of melody

In Rhyme's delicious voice;
But both were beautiful and fair,
And pure as mountain stream and air.

As the boys together grew,
Happy fled their hours-
Grief or care they never knew
In the Paphian bowers.
See them roaming, hand in hand,
The pride of all the choral band.

Music with harp of golden strings,
Love with bow and quiver,
Airy sprites on radiant wings,
Nymphs of wood and river,
Joined the Muses' constant song
As Rhyme and Reason pass'd along.

But the scene was changed-the boys
Left their native soil--
Rhyme's pursuit was idle joys,
Reason's manly toil.

Soon Rhyme was starving in a ditch,
While Reason grew exceeding rich.

Since that dark and fatal hour

When the brothers parted, Reason has had wealth and power-Rhyme's poor and broken-hearted. And now, on bright or stormy weather, They twain are seldom seen together.

AH NO! AH NO!

To a Favourite Child.

BY JAMES NACK.

In life, perhaps, thou hast only trod
As yet in a path as soft and sweet
As the flowerets wreathed on a verdant sod,
Which bend to the pressure of delicate feet.
In the path thou hast only begun to tread,

Perhaps no thorn has betrayed its sting;
And the clouds that brood there too oft have fled,
By innocence chased on her snow-white wing:
For often a paradise seems to attend

Our earliest steps in this world below;
But ah! will that paradise bloom to the end?
Stern destiny answers, "Ah No! Ah No!"

The tree with verdure adorns the shore

While the laving spray at its foot is thrown; But the waves roll on to return no more,

And the tree stands withering all alone. Each friend of our early years is a wave

In the sea of joy we are flourishing by; But they roll away to the gulf of the grave,

And our hearts in loneliness withering sigh. And such is the doom I must bear for now,

While yet in my boyhood I find it so
But never, dear cherub, may heaven allow
Such doom to await thee, Ah No! Ah No!

A HEALTH.

BY MISS ELIZABETH C. CLINCH.

Ob. 1832: at. 17.

FILL high the cup! - the young and

gay

Are met with bounding hearts to-night;
And sunny smiles around us play,

And eyes are sparkling bright:
Let wit and song the hours beguile,
But yet, amid this festal cheer,
Oh, let us pause to think awhile
Of him who is not here.

Fill high the cup!—yet ere its brim
One young and smiling lip has pressed,
Oh, pledge each sparkling drop to him
Now far o'er ocean's breast!

The cordial wish each lip repeats,
By every heart is echoed here;
For none within this circle beats,
To whom he is not dear.

A sudden pause in festive glee

What thought hath hushed the thought of mirth, Hath checked each heart's hilarity,

And given to sadness birth?

O! read it in the shades that steal
Across each animated brow;
The wish none utters, yet all feel,

"Would he were with us now!"

Yet chase away each vain regret,
And let each heart be gay;
Trust me, the meeting hour shall yet
Each anxious thought repay.

Is not his spirit with us now?

Yes! wheresoe'er his footsteps roam, The wanderer's yearning heart can know No resting-place-but home!

Then smile again, and let the song

Pour forth its music sweet and clearWhat magic to those notes belong Which thus chain every ear!

Soft eyes are filled with tears-what spell So suddenly hath called them there? That strain-ah, yes! we know it well; It is his favourite air.

With every note how forcibly

Return the thoughts of other days! The shaded brow, the drooping eye,

Are present to our gaze.

With all around his looks are blent;

His form, is it not gliding there? And was it not his voice which sent That echo on the air?

One wish, with cordial feeling fraught,
Breathe we for him ere yet we part,
That for each high and generous thought
That animates his heart,

That Power which gives us happiness,
A blessing on his head would pour!
Oh! could affection wish him less?
Yet, could we ask for more?